The One Mistake of a Damned Soul
by Venture Wood-angelofmusic75
Summary: We all know the story of Macbeth. But what if Macduff did not succeed in killing Macbeth? What if Macbeth grasped onto the thread of life, so he would not have to face eternal damnation? For 800 years, Macbeth remains alive, hiding beneath a mask and an Opera House, attempting to shade his guilty conscience from the world of men.. So what if ERIK and MACBETH were both the same man?
1. Chapter 1

**_I feel the need to preface this... So, as some of you know, I am now a sophomore in high school. As all sophomores need to do in their respected English classes (I am in Honors), my class and I are studying a Shakespeare play. Namely Macbeth. And while we were marking our books as our teacher explained a few things, we came across the point where Macbeth is speaking to Lady Macbeth, mentioning that he wished he had a mask, so that he could hide his misdeeds. And I had this wonderful punch in the face from inspiration. What if Macbeth lingered on through the years, instead of being killed by Macduff, through his unwillingness to die? What if Macbeth and Erik were one and the same? ...Take from that what you will... But while you do, read this story._**

**_On a side note, Macbeth was considerably young in the play, so Erik is too. I mean, since they are now the same person, _**I'm**_ still wrapping my head around that one, they would have to be the same age. So Erik/Macbeth= say... 27. 27 is a good age. And Erik is now slightly ripped... Basically, though I hate to say it (srsly), he's like Gerik, but has a full mask, and has an Erik personality... I hope that makes sense. But in my mind, Macbeth is still Erik, not Gerik. I mean, considering the way he thinks, etc... So... Yeah. Just imagine Erik, preferably Kay's, seeing as how the Erik in this story is not a complete lunatic like Leroux's, with a normal skin tone and muscles. So basically not the same as Gerik. Defs not the same as Gerik... _**

**_Enough about that. I'm boring you all, now, and confusing you aren't I? Sorry. Proceed with the story. _**

* * *

_Sneaking up to King Duncan in his bed, the guards in front of the door already swimming in the pools of their life-blood, their faces still painted with happy drunkenness... Allowing the dagger in front of me to lead, the door-knob is carefully turned, silently and without drawing attention to the sleeping guest inside. I thank the Lady for having carpeted this portion of the castle, for without its silent surface, I fear this attempt would have turned rancid immediately. Maneuvering through the jungle of furniture, I make my way to the king's bed. Without a single thought, for I know I will falter if I contemplate the deed any longer, I slit his throat, the warm substance that breathes life into each of us flows onto my flesh, instantly dirtying my hands, as well as my soul._

* * *

I slam my hands onto the desk in front of me, fury seething through my veins. One action! It only took one action to damn a man into eternal suffering; one action to send a man through more than a thousand years, hiding his guilt behind a mask, painfully hiding in the darkness so that no man would judge him, and find him guilty of crimes he wished he had not committed. Oh, how foolish he had been... How he and his wife had been! And here he sat, suffering through the pangs of a guilty conscious while his wife was long since dead.

"Perhaps she suffers more than him," I think. "Perhaps she doesn't..." I sit at my desk, my finger resting on a quill, rolling it back and forth, the tip dripping black ink blotches onto the paper beneath it. I clench my jaw as I stare at the tainted paper, the black ink blotches reminding me of the own tally marks on my soul. I growl and swipe everything off of my desk, exclaiming, "Too long! I have lived too long! Every extra hour I live is another tick off of my salvation!" I stand and angrily make my way to the mirror by my bedside, staring into my reflection as if I could erase everything with one look. As I stare into the abyss of my soul, I remember something. Turning quickly on my heel, I proceed to my bedside-table, hastily ripping out the drawers, dumping out the contents, and searching desperately for the vile. When I cannot find it there, I tear straight to my desk, nearly knocking it over with my violent searching.

"Where is it?" I seethe, my heartbeat rising in desperation and panic. I could not have lost it! This could be my one last chance for redemption; my one last chance for hope! I pat my pockets anxiously, and my hand hits something hard. I quickly insert my hand into my pocket and wrap it around a cylindrical object. I sigh in relief. There was still hope. I pull the vile from my pocket and care not about examining its contents, for why should I examine something so familiar to my senses? Instead, I break off the top of the glass vile, smashing the top on an edge, and swallow the contents, ignoring the sensation of fire as the contents slide down my throat. As I gulp down the last swallow, my body starts to convulse. The empty vile slips from my hands as they reach around my throat, trying to make the choking stop. The burning sensation gets worse until my whole mouth is dry. I cough in vain attempts to rid the substance from my body, as I slip to my knees and hands. The burning worsens as it travels from my throat to the eternally unhealed wound on my chest. My arms weaken and I fall to my elbows, the world around me spinning and beginning to grow misty, blurry, and dark. With one last hacking cough, my body lurches forward and I fall.

* * *

I collapse in a heap on a barren plain, the grass beneath me yellow, sharp, tall, and dead. As the wind blows through the dead atmosphere, flying through white, barren poplar trees, and blowing through the dead shrubbery and weeds, I can hear their sorrowful song, and I empathize with the tortured Earth, as I know how it feels to be punished. I rise to my hands and knees, still coughing as the burning sensation leaves behind a dry, foul taste in my mouth.

"_So Macbeth has returned_," three voices speak behind me.

"_What is it he'll want this time?_" One speaks directly behind me.

"_A new title, won, again, through his merciless crime?_" Another says, soon right next to me.

"_Or of his lady lost, but found when the bells chime?_" The last speaks, now right in front of me.

"Or perhaps I am here to seek my future," I say as I stand, brushing dirt and the carcasses of withered plants from my trousers, and turn to face the Weird Sisters once more. "Tell me... What do you see concerning the future state of my soul?"

* * *

**_Yeah, it's short. But I'm not sure if you guys will want to read it. And if you don't want to read it, what's the point in carrying on with it? Please read. I thought I was quite clever... And I like that feeling. I have just realized, this is probably my first book-Phantom fanficiton that is solely my own idea. My other ideas have come from other people, but I've changed stuff. Ya know? Not like I'm stealing their work! Don't think like that! Just think of it as my taking an idea and making it my own by changing plot line, time, some characters and their roles, etc., as some people do on this website. Anyway, I hope you enjoy... And please leave a review... I've been feeling review-less, as of late... And kind of filled with self-doubt. Though my pride in writing is slowly making its way back to where it used to be._**

**_~VW_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Two reviews...? That's all I get for my hard work? Two reviews... Well... I thought I was clever in coming up with this plot. I guess not... SO many huge thanks to my two reviewers! I think they know who they are. Thanks again. I appreciate it... I hope you enjoy this one! And anyone else who decides to join the bandwagon. I mean, I guess I should be grateful... Some people don't get reviews. But alas... I still feel unaccomplished..._**

* * *

"_Ah, so he pleads for his fate..." _I turn my head to follow the hag as she steps to the side and then into my face. Her two sisters begin to chant and she soon joins in:

_Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble... _

_What Macbeth doth know doth not double..._

"So I've been told... But I have not come to hear what I already know! Please, I pray you, tell me what you behold of my future?"

_Patience, Macbeth, is a virtue to learn..._

_For if you find Her, the tables will turn... _

_Seek ye now, or forever be damned... _

_Ye, the unholy, forever the slaughtered lamb. _

And with that, the hags begin to disappear, their chantings and cackles ringing around my eardrums, sending chills up my spine as the mist about the ground begins to rise, first at my ankles, then submerging my knees.

They could not be disappearing! I had to hear more!

"No!" I cry. "Do not leave me! Who is the woman you speak of? The "Her" I should find?" But it was to no avail. They give two last lines of prophecy:

_The entitled bring ye no exemption,_

_for they bring no news of lasting redemption. _

before the sound of their voices disappear, my ears so engulfed in the thick mist. I make to move, shouting out demands that are not heard, but find I cannot. As soon as the thick, unnaturally cold substance submerges my head, the ground gives way and I fall, landing with a thud on my own floor. I groan as I shakily and haltingly stand, grasping onto the nearest piece of furniture for assistance. I stumble to a chair and collapse, my ears ringing with an odd sense of foreboding.

_What am I going to do? _I think solemnly. But I already know what I have to do. I am just in no mood to admit my desperate seek for guidance. I decide that the only way for me to conquer this quest is through advice from the other side. I conclude that I must consult Banquo.

* * *

Eyes peered through a black cloak, staring at the man in the mask below. Watching, ever watching, the eyes followed the man as he collapsed into a chair, aware of whom the man had just seen. He was a foolish man... Very foolish indeed, to think that he could escape the cruel hand of honest jurisdiction. But now was not the time to make amends. Perhaps the man deserved a chance... Perhaps not. However the answer, though, the eyes' and their owner were willing to give the masked man, formerly Macbeth, a chance at redemption. One chance, no matter the consequences. But his one chance would not be easy to come by... No, the figure would make sure of that. Redemption was not something that one obtained through comfort or ease. No, Macbeth, now called Erik, would have to fight for his spot in heaven.

The cloaked figure, convinced of his choice, left the cracked window of the masked man's underground apartment and crept quickly and quietly into the night.

* * *

_**Yes, it's short... But I just had to get something up for you guys! **_

_**I hope y'all are still interested... Please give me feedback! I am in desperate need of it! I promise that this is all going to be worth your time and reviews... And I'm not usually cocky enough to say that. But let's just say I'm pretty proud of how well this is all playing out... Who knew that Phantom of the Opera and Macbeth meshed so well together?**_

_**~Venture Wood**_


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